


Scars, Scars, Scars

by iammyownqueen



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: 5+5, Angst, Body Positivity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Let boys be insecure about their bodies plz, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Scars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 08:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23348074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iammyownqueen/pseuds/iammyownqueen
Summary: 5 times Bart conceals his scars, plus 5 times people see them anyway.Play on the 5+1 trope
Relationships: Barry Allen & Bart Allen, Bart Allen & Iris West, Bart Allen & Joan Garrick
Comments: 59
Kudos: 183





	1. Swimming Pt 1

**Author's Note:**

> A gift from Corona isolation. Will I end up updating my main fic? no clue. Enjoy this anyway.

“Wait. hold up. You don’t know how to  _ swim _ ?” Grandma all but shouted in shock.

“Um… no?” Bart said, shrinking into himself. He avoided the shocked stares of his well- meaning family.

Swimming was a very… new concept to Bart. Swimming was not a thing in the future. It just wasn’t.

“I mean, how is that possible?” Jay asked.

Bart knew that they didn’t know any better, that they had no  _ clue _ what it was like, but their words still stung like venom. Anger seethed in his veins.  _ They have no idea. They have no idea. It’s not their fault, they have no idea.  _ He tried to calm himself down. If he spoke now, he would end up raising his voice and  _ it wasn’t their fault.  _ His hands were curled into tight fists under the table, and he was very aware of the fact that his entire body was trembling, and not just from anger.

“Bart?” his grandfather reached to put his hand on his shoulder, but he recoiled at the touch. “Kid,” he breathed.

“In what water?” He had meant to lower his voice, but it came out louder than he meant to anyway. His voice sounded bitter and angry, and he hated that it was directed at his family, but when the words started, they poured out without his consent.

“In the polluted oceans? Even if there  _ was  _ enough clean water somewhere, no idiot would bother  _ swimming  _ in it. it would be used for drinking water because meat dropped like flies because there was never  _ enough _ . Never enough water, never enough time. Never enough-”

His voice suddenly left him, and he gasped for air in its absence. All at once, his seething anger abandoned him, leaving him hollow and empty. He hugged himself and cried. He hadn’t meant to yell at his family, he hated that he had. He hated that he had broken  _ so much  _ over such a little thing. He felt so alone.

Suddenly, his grandfather seized him and hugged him close to his chest as he cried. Gramps rocked him back and forth and petted his hair.

“Shhhh,” he said, his voice drenched with emotion. “Shh, it's okay now. It’s going to be okay.” He rubbed circles on his back and kept rocking him in his arms as he cried. “Shhh, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Bart sunk into his arms and clutched him tight as he sobbed, allowing himself to be coddled like a child for once in his life.

“Can someone grab me a blanket?” his grandfather asked in a hushed voice, directed at the others in the room.

He felt the weight of a blanket as it was draped over his shoulders. His grandfather’s physical touch and soothing voice, along with the warmth and comfort of the blanket slowly calmed him down. His body stopped trembling as much, and he became more aware of his surroundings and the other people in the room.

His grandfather hesitantly let go of the death grip he held him in. “Little better now?” he asked.

Bart nodded, too exhausted to speak.

“Bart?” Iris said.

He turned and saw that she was holding a tall glass of water to him. She placed it in his hands, and he tried not to be bitter at the irony of it.

“Drink,” Jay said when he hesitated. “It’ll help.”

Bart nodded and chugged the glass. He found that it did help some, to his surprise.

“I’m sorry I yelled.” Bart said when he regained more of his composure.

“That's not-”

“Kid-”

Several voices tried to talk at once, but only Joan’s voice broke through. She had been silent until now, it must have killed her to watch him break down, and not be the one to help. He knew how caring she was, and how much it hurt her to see him unhappy.

“Sweetie, that’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

He looked at the table instead of at her. She was wrong, it  _ was _ his fault. He yelled at his family when they didn’t know any better, and had a breakdown, causing a scene at family dinner.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” she begged. He finally met her eyes, and noticed that they were full of unshed tears “We should be the one’s apologizing to you. Swimming is such a natural part of our lives, and we assumed it had been the same for you. It’s okay that you never learned.”

“She’s right, kid,” Barry said, putting his hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. We’re all still trying to wrap our heads around what your time was like. Sometimes we forget that you've only been here for a few months. A lot of the time… it feels like you grew up here with us. The other day, I even caught myself trying to find  _ baby  _ pictures of you, before realizing that there weren't any."

Bart didn’t say much. His throat still felt tight, and he was embarrassed about everything that had transpired.

  
  


“You look pale, Sweetie,” Joan said. “Why don’t you go lie down for a bit? It might help.”

He nodded grimly and made his way into the living room, before collapsing on the couch. He was out like a light for the rest of the night.

  
  


The next day, Gramps pulled him out of team training.

“Put on your civies, we’re going for a run,” he said simply.

“If we’re going for a run shouldn’t we-”

“Civies,” his grandfather said. “Trust me.”

“Okay… civies it is.”

He wouldn’t say why they were wearing civies, or even where they were going. Bart just followed him blindly, until they reached a very familiar wreckage.

“Mount Justice? What are we doing here?”

His grandfather  _ still  _ refused to answer, but gestured to a blanket laid out on the beach. On the blanket was a very large picnic basket.

“Come on,” he said with a mischievous smile.

They settled down on the blanket and dug into the picnic that Barry had prepared. It included several sandwiches each, two full-sized bags of chips, and an entire package of juice boxes.

It was a nice picnic with a beautiful view, but Bart still had no clue why they were there in the first place. Before he could ask, his grandfather finally offered an explanation.

“I wanted to talk to you alone. Besides, it was high time we did something together that didn’t involve training, or family dinners, or-”

“Or claiming an emotional breakdown?”

He smiled thinly. “Or that.”

Bart took another bite of a sandwich and chewed thoughtfully.

“Someone should really take care of that zeta tube. It’s not operational any more, but there's still some pretty sweet tech inside.”

Barry scrunched his eyebrows in concern. “You’re right, we should take care of that. I’ll let someone know when we get back.”

It was silent for a beat, before Barry spoke again.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but you still need to learn how to swim.”

_ Right. _

Seeing the frown on his face, Barry continued.

“Don’t worry about it too much, bud. I’ll teach you, and we can go at whatever pace you’re comfortable with.”

“Is that why we're here?” The ocean, while beautiful, was also utterly terrifying when he thought about  _ swimming _ in it.

“What? No, I definitely would  _ not _ start you out in the  _ ocean.  _ Besides, we don’t even have swimsuits on or a change of clothes, and I am  _ not _ in the mood to run home wet, what about you?”

Bart just stared at him blankly, unsure how to respond.

“Speaking of,’ Barry rubbed his chin in thought. “We’re gonna need to get you a swimsuit.”

Bart could feel his face heating up. This was the part he had been dreading the most. The swimsuits that men wore in this time were very… not his style.

“Something wrong?” Barry asked.

“I- um. The swim suits here aren’t very, I mean I-” He stumbled over the words clumsily.

“They’re a little too… revealing for my taste.” He admitted.

He hadn’t realized that he was unconsciously hugging himself, as if to hide the scars underneath his shirt.

“Oh,” his grandfather said simply.

He didn’t understand how people, especially men, could just  _ exist _ in that way. They were comfortable exposing themselves to the world. Then again, most people didn’t have his scars. Their bodies were pure and unmarked. His had been marred by many years of slavery and toil. The thought of exposing himself in that way made him very, very uncomfortable.

“That's not the only style of swimsuit, Bart. It’s the most popular type, but it's not the only one out there.”

“It’s not?” That made him feel a little better, at least.

“Here,” Gramps said, patting the blanket next to him.

Bart took the hint and scooched closer. Gramps pulled out his phone and typed something in, before leaning closer to Bart.

"Look," he commanded, pointing to his phone. It showed pictures of… men in swimsuits. Except they were wearing  _ shirts _ too.

“When I was your age, I didn’t feel very comfortable in swim trunks either. I always wore something on top as well.”

“Really?” That fact surprised him. His  _ grandfather,  _ the  _ Flash,  _ was once uncomfortable in swim shorts?

Gramps just nodded solemnly. “When I was your age, I was pretty skinny, and my father, your great grandfather, was in prison. I was picked on a  _ lot _ by the other kids because of it. Some of the things they said were… pretty harsh, and I took them to heart. I had a pretty low self esteem for most of high school. I was insecure about a lot of things, my body, my situation,  _ everything. _ ”

Bart… didn’t know what to say to that, so he just scooched closer to him. He had never seen his grandfather to be insecure about anything. He was always so brave and strong. It was hard to believe that he hadn’t always been that way.

Barry chuckled and put his arm around his shoulders.

“We can get you a suit that you feel comfortable in, don’t worry.”

  
  


The next day, Barry kept his word.

“How’s it fit?” he asked from the other side of the fitting room door.

The swimsuit he was trying on felt… good. It was simple, just swim trunks and a matching long sleeve shirt, but it was elegant too. The material was surprisingly silky and felt smooth against his skin. It covered all of his scars, and it made him look  _ nice.  _ He didn’t think he looked like much, the Reach had made that clear. But… maybe it was time to stop listening to what the Reach thought of him, and start listening to what  _ he _ thought of  _ himself _ .

He opened the door and gave a little spin.

“What do you think?” he asked his grandfather.

“That looks really good on you! I think the style suits you very well,” Barry said with a smile. “It looks like it fits well too, I think we should go with that one, what do you think?”

Bart responded with a grin.

“Yeah,” he said. “I like this one a lot.”

“Perfect, why don’t you change back into your clothes and we can get that one.”

Bart nodded and started towards the door before turning back.

“Gramps?”

“Hm?” he responded.

“Thanks,” he said. “For everything.”

Barry’s face softened. “Of course, bud.”


	2. Mending a Shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a hole in Bart's shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty short compared to the last one, mainly because I really didn't need to set anything up. I know a lot of you want to see the second part to Swimming, but that will be chapter 6. This one is stand alone.

“There’s a hole in your shirt, Bart.” His grandmother had commented.

He had been helping her baby proof the house. Grams was getting to be  _ very _ pregnant, and Gramps had insisted the two of them do it together so she wouldn’t have to. Unfortunately, Gramps had to stay late at work. They could have waited for him, but they decided to at least get started going through various instruction manuals and unwrapping plastic packaging.

He didn’t mind that there was a hole in his shirt. There were holes in all of his clothing in the future, it wasn’t a big deal in his time. You wore what clothing you had until it was literally in pieces around you. Even then, you found some way to stretch its use in some way. Nothing was wasted. They didn’t have that luxury.

He just shrugged in response.

“That’s a pretty old shirt, it might be time to throw it out ” she asked.

Most of his clothing was brand new. His family had taken him shopping for a brand new wardrobe very soon after he had arrived, but he still wore Wally’s hand me downs every once and awhile. The shirt he had on now was one of them.

“The rest of it’s still fine,” he said. He was always reluctant to throw things away. It was wasteful, besides this was  _ Wally’s  _ old shirt. He couldn’t throw  _ that  _ out.

Iris touched the fabric where it was torn. “The hole is right under your collar. You might be able to get away with sewing it up. Let me get my patch kit.” She struggled to get up, and he tried to talk her out of it.

“It’s okay, really,” he said. “I can do it.”

She finally got herself off the couch. “Nonsense.” Iris said. “Sewing is one of the things I can still  _ do. _ ”

He sighed in resignation. There was no convincing her otherwise.

She returned shortly and sat back down, the patch kit in hand.

“Take off your shirt.” she commanded.

“What? Now?” He stammered, turning red.

She shrugged. “We’re waiting for Barry anyway, why not?”

There was no talking her out of it, and there was no other shirt to put on while she mended his, so he flashed out of the shirt and covered himself up with a blanket instead.

Grams raised an eyebrow at him. “You know it's alright for men to be shirtless in public, right? Especially in front of family?”

“I know,” he said. “I just… would rather not.” His face was heating up even more.

“Alright,” she said.

Mending his shirt took some time, at least by speedster standards. He was grateful that his grandfather was still stuck at work. Flashing in and out of clothes could hide his scars from a normal person, but there was no way another speedster wouldn’t be able to see.

“Thank you,” he said when he had flashed on his shirt.

“No problem,” Iris said. “Now why don’t we try and figure out these instruction manuals? I think this one’s in Korean, what do you think?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! Its short and sweet, but I still had fun with it.


	3. Injury Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bart gets injured. He doesn't think its a big deal. Joan does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so tired guys but this happened so enjoy

It wasn’t a big deal, really. He had broken so many bones before. He always healed. He was able to walk and talk as though nothing was bothering him, too. He had been far more hurt and forced to walk it off by the Reach, a few broken ribs were  _ nothing.  _ Really,  _ nothing. _

Joan didn’t seem to think so.

He usually didn’t give his injuries much attention, content to just let them heal on their own while he was going about his day as normal. The only times you could even tell he was injured at all were if someone jostled his injuries on accident.

Which Joan did.

He gasped in pain but quickly recovered. It wasn’t a big deal, really.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” Joan’s face was scrunched up in concern.

“I’m fine,” he answered honestly. “I’ll heal.”

She turned off the stove before pulling out a chair.

“Sit.” She commanded.

He did as he was told. He could tell by her expression that she meant business.

“What happened?”

“I may have broken a rib or two?”

“Bart!” She looked shocked. “Why didn’t you say anything? Did you go to the med bay, at least?”

He just shrugged and tried not to meet her eyes. When he did, she raised her eyebrow at him. It was clear that the questions were not rhetorical.

“I heal fast,” he tried. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“You heal fast, but you  _ still feel pain, _ ” she countered.

“It’s not like pain medication would even work on me anyway.”

“No, but that doesn’t mean you can’t  _ lie down and rest. _ ”

“I know but-”

“But  _ nothing, _ Bart.” She sighed, clearly annoyed at his antics. “Did you go to the med bay?”

He sighed. “No,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Lift up your shirt,” she said.

“What?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“Sweetheart, I just want to take a look. If you didn’t go to the med bay, then no one’s looked at it yet. I may not be a doctor, but I’ve seen my fair share of broken ribs.”

She may have seen her fair share or broken ribs, but he highly doubted she’d ever seen scars like his. If she was this worried about a few broken ribs, then she would be even  _ more _ worried about his scars. Besides, she looked at him like he was so _ innocent.  _ It was like he was a  _ normal  _ kid for once. He couldn’t bear it if she started looking at him in any other way.

It was silent for a few moments. He knew that Joan was angry with him, but he would rather her be angry than have her see his scars.

Eventually, she just sighed in defeat. “Go to your room,” she said, speaking softly.

He didn’t move for a few seconds. This was the most angry he had ever seen her. In fact, he had never known Joan to be angry at all.

“Don’t make me ask again,” she said sternly. “Bed. Now.”

He went to bed without another word.

A few minutes later, Joan came in with an ice pack wrapped in a towel.

“This’ll help,” she said, handing it to him. Surprisingly, it did help to numb the pain.

“Thanks,” he said softly. “When’s Jay coming home?” he asked.

Jay had left a few hours ago to reconnect with a few old friends, but he’d said that he would be home by dinner.

“He should be home soon.” Her words were soft, but not in their usual tender way. She was angry, he could tell. “He’s not going to be any happier about this than I am.”

“I know,” he all but whispered.

She ran her fingers through his hair, despite her anger at him. “Dinner’s almost ready. When it’s done, I’ll bring you a plate so you don’t have to get up. Deal?”

He nodded. “Deal,” he repeated.

She left his room to finish cooking dinner, leaving him in the wake of her silent fury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joan's not really angry at Bart. She's just disappointed and worried. I figure that a kid who was raised by neglectful and abusive aliens has trouble telling the difference between the two. I've never broken a rib, but I have sprained one before. It sucked a lot.


	4. Car Crash Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bart doesn't understand whats going on. Maybe that's a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have been warned, this is an angsty chapter. It's also a two parter, so don't worry that I left things unresolved. This chapter was really fun to write, enjoy your suffering my babies.

It happened faster than Bart could control. He was strapped in, and he couldn’t phase through his seat belt without injuring himself further. He hit his head and everything became fuzzy. He could hear the crushing of metal and the shattering of glass, but his mind couldn’t make sense of it. He smelled smoke, and could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.

He and Joan had left the house to get Jay a gift. One of his old friends had passed away the week before, and he’d been devastated at the news. They decided that they would get him something nice to cheer him up. They hadn’t even reached the mall yet when a blizzard appeared out of nowhere. They couldn’t see anything beyond the windshield. They hit something, and then something else, and the car started to tumble.

Bart didn’t know how much time had passed, but his head throbbed. He looked up to the ceiling of the car and saw that blood was pooling above his head. But that didn’t make any sense. How could blood pool  _ up. _ And why was his hair sticking up? It was as if gravity forgot to work on him.

And then his mind cleared enough to realize what had happened.

The car was upside down. They had crashed. Joan was-

He started to panic. He turned his head and pain shot up his neck, but he pressed on anyway. Joan was dangling from her seat, much in the same way that Bart was. Blood ran up her temple and dripped on the ceiling. He tried to call out to her but it was as if cotton had been jammed in his throat. It took a few tries to make any intelligible sounds.

She didn’t respond, but she was breathing at least. He reached out and touched her arm, but it didn’t do much. She groaned lightly, and her eyes fluttered slightly, but stayed shut. He held her hand and stared at the ceiling, watching the pool of blood slowly get bigger.

He wasn’t sure how long they were like that. The cold swept into his bones, and his head was too foggy to think of a safe way out. He wasn’t sure he could get himself out, much less Joan. He should have done more. He should be  _ doing  _ something more, but he couldn’t force himself to do much of anything.

Eventually, he heard sirens and saw lights. Voices surrounded the car. What happened next was a blur.

A woman with a kind face asked him questions while he answered slowly. She wanted to know who he was, how old he was, who Joan was, and many other questions. At one point she injected him with a clear liquid.

“It's morphine,” she stated. “It’ll help with the pain while we work to get you out, alright?”

He felt the morphine warm his body and numb his pain. And then it was gone, and the cold and pain seeped back into his bones. He tried to turn his head again to look at Joan, but the woman stopped him.

“No,” she said. “You need to stay still. We’re gonna get both of you out safely, okay?”

He groaned in response, and she started asking him more questions. Some were about how he was feeling, but a lot of them were about his life and friends. He didn’t know why she needed to know any of that, but when he didn’t answer she would call his name and repeat the question until he did.

Somehow he ended up looking up at the sky. It had stopped snowing, but the sky was still cloudy and gray. His body ached, and his head was still pounding against his skull. The sky turned into a metallic white as he was rolled into the ambulance.

Once inside, several people began buzzing around him at once. The fabric of his shirt was being cut, probably to investigate the rather large blood stain that had been forming on his side.

“No,” he said forcefully, though he couldn’t remember why.

It seemed to stop them momentarily, but the hands just migrated to the tender, bloodstained part of his side. He gasped in pain as the world started to fade away. The woman hovered above him, but her words turned into nothing more than a buzzing against his ears. Her face too, became a blurry mess. Soon, he wasn’t aware of anything at all.

He hoped that Joan was doing better than he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	5. School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School was hard, but it was better than the Reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know ya'll want the second part to car crash but.... that gonna be awhile. Enjoy this instead :)

Growing up, Bart was never able to  _ go _ to school, and for good reason. There was no time to learn math and history when the Reach were terrorizing all of humanity. It was a small miracle he was even able to walk through the doors at all. When he first got to the past, it took months of studying and coaching to even get him into the eighth grade. Once there, it didn’t get any easier **.** The course work was relatively easy, but he didn’t seem to connect with his peers as he had hoped. His teacher’s didn’t seem to understand him very much either. They saw him as a goofball who didn’t take school seriously. They had no idea how hard he worked, how hard he  _ continued  _ to work to even stay afloat in school.

Some of the boys in his gym class seemed to have something against him. He always got to class early to be able to change without prying eyes. He stayed late too, in an effort to conceal his scars. The swim unit was the worst by far. Central city middle school didn’t have its own swimming pool, and they had to be bused to the high school to use their pool. There was no getting there early, and no staying late. He had to change in the one bathroom stall connected to the changing room.

Some of the boy’s didn’t like that. It was stupid, really.

They teased him and called him a sissy. He laughed it off. They shoved him against lockers. It was harder to laugh off.

It was no big deal, really. They meant  _ nothing _ to him. He had dealt with much worse. He would take some trivial bullies over the Reach any day.

Every time they did something to him, shoved him, laughed at him, called him names, he would just laugh it off. He would relish the growing look of anger in their eyes as he gave no reaction. He had bigger things to worry about than a few annoying classmates.

Until they tried to find out just  _ why _ he was so sensitive about his body. And no, they didn’t ask nicely.

He could have escaped easily, he always could. But that would risk his secret identity. It was better to take whatever they threw at him than to fight back. What would they do to him? Kill him?  _ Break _ him? They were a joke.

Until they did something he didn’t expect. They tried to take his shirt off, in the middle of a crowded hallway. They  _ succeeded _ in taking off his shirt.

He felt the material slip over his head, and rushed to find cover when-

“That's  _ enough. _ ”

A large shadow passed over him. One of his teachers, Mr. Flit, was standing with his back towards him. Bart hugged a textbook to his chest, and backed up against the wall. He  _ so _ wanted to phase right through it, to escape and run away. This was not  _ nothing. _

He stared at his teacher’s back, hoping,  _ praying _ that he wouldn’t look over his shoulder.

Instead, Mr. Flit took off his sweatshirt and handed it behind him, without looking back. Bart took it and slipped it over his head immediately. It was big, and he drowned in the fabric, but he was grateful for it.

“Let’s go to my office,” Mr. Flit said, looking back.

Bart was too shaken to speak, but nodded and followed him anyway. They walked into his classroom, and then to a seperate room inside it. Mr. Flit sat down at his desk, and he sat down across from him.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Bart nodded, refusing to make eye contact.

“I’m going to make a few phone calls, will you be okay in here until I get back?”

Bart nodded again, still refusing to make eye contact.

Trying to gauge how much time had passed was always difficult for a speedster, but right now it was impossible. He was still reeling from what had happened.

Eventually Mr. Flit did return.

“Come with me,” he said softly. “We’re having a meeting in the principal's office, your pa- er, guardians, will join us in a few minutes.”

Bart followed silently. When they got to the principal's office, the two kids who had stolen his shirt were there, as well as the principal. They sat there for several minutes in silence. Then the Garricks arrived.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Joan rushed to his side and looked him over.

“I’m fine,” he said quietly.

She pursed her lips in concern and nodded. He could tell that she was holding back because of everyone else in the room. Jay too, said nothing, but looked very concerned. They sat on opposite sides of him and waited for the other parents.

When they did arrive, the meeting started. He tuned most of it out. He only tuned back in when they asked him how long it had been going on.

He shrugged, hesitant to answer. “A few months,” he mumbled.

“What?!” Joan said in shock. “Sweetheart, why didn’t you say anything?”

He could feel Jay tense beside him.

“It was never this bad,” he reasoned. “They’re just annoying, that's all.”

“You’re one to talk,” one of the boys, Alex, said.

“You’re a coward, and history will forget you,” Bart snapped, looking him straight in his eyes.

“Boys,” the principal said tiredly. “That’s enough.”

The meeting ended shortly after, with the boys getting suspended for a few days.

Bart didn’t get his shirt back, but he did get sent home for the rest of the day.

“Um, Mr. Flit?” he asked before leaving for the day.

“Yes?”

“I can bring your sweatshirt back tomorrow, I don't have your class tomorrow, but-”

Mr. Flit waved him off. “Keep it, my wife’s been trying to get rid of that old thing for awhile, anyway.”

“Thank you,” Bart said.

The car ride home was silent, and Bart dreaded all of it.

When they got home, the interrogation began.

“Bart,” Joan asked sweetly. “What  _ exactly _ have they been doing to you?”

Bart shrugged. “Name calling, mostly. Shoving me against lockers, sometimes. It’s not like they can ever manage to hurt me, anyway.”

“Sweetheart, that's not the  _ point, _ ” she sighed. “Jay, back me up here,”

Jay took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going for a run.”

He walked stiffly out the door and disappeared in a flash.

Bart and Joan stood in shock for a few seconds, before Joan broke the silence.

“I haven’t seen him this angry in a few years.”

Bart hadn’t seen Jay this angry  _ ever, _ and a cold feeling filled his stomach.

“He’s not… mad at me, is he?”

Joan’s face morphed into panic. “No, sweetheart. No, no, no. He’s not angry at you, I promise.” She lightly cupped his face. “He’s mad at those kids and what they’ve been doing to you, that’s all. He’ll be back once he’s cooled off.”

Bart nodded, and let himself be led to the couch.

“Sweetie, even though they don’t hurt you doesn’t mean what they’re doing is okay. No one should be treating you that way, understand?”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, okay.”

Jay returned half an hour later. The strain had lessened from his form, but it hadn’t dissipated completely. He sat down next to Bart and put his hand on his shoulder.

“Bart, the next time those kids try to shove you against a locker, I want you to punch them in the face.”

“Jay!” Joan said in protest.

Bart was speechless for a few seconds. “Won't I get in trouble?”

“With the school, probably, but not with us.”

Joan sighed, “He is right though, we won’t get mad.”

“But won’t that hurt him?”

“Obviously try not to actually hurt him, but one punch should show him that you're not afraid to fight back,” Jay said.

“It’s up to you, honey, but whatever you do, we’ll support you.”

“I- okay,” Bart said, still unsure what to say.

He was unsure of what to  _ do _ too, until Alex tried to shove him against a locker again, and he remembered what Jay had said.

Alex and his lackeys stayed away from him after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who spotted my Disney reference?


	6. Swimming Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swimming was easy. Other things aren't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys its taken me forever I'm sorry. Also, this fic is based off of a fic by MashpotatoeQueen5 called "And there will be safe harbour" ITS SO GOOD PLEASE READ IT

Swimming was… weird, but also kinda fun. He and Gramps had been in the water far about an hour before calling it quits for the day. Bart was amazed at everything he was able to do! He was completely out of his element, but it was somehow okay. Plus, he got to spend an hour filled with undivided attention from his grandfather.

In fact, he was having such a great time that for a few moments, he forgot all about the scars that he had tried so hard to conceal.

“So Jaime  _ screams,  _ right, and there is still goo  _ everywhere _ ,” he shrugged off his swim shirt, and patted himself down with his towel.

“And the shower isn’t gonna stop by itself, but he’s kinda busy at the moment and a little bit blind, also because of the goo, so he just  _ walks away _ , which was not the best option because he walked smack into Tim. anyway, that’s why Jaime is no longer speaking to me. Tim thought it was funny, but he doesn’t want to admit it yet, so he is  _ also _ not talking to me. For now, at least.”

After he changed, he turned to face his grandfather, not expecting to find his facial expression to be so…

Shocked.

Horrified.

Disgusted.

There was another thing too.

Anger. Like he really, really wanted to hit something.

He tensed in an instant, before realizing his fatal mistake. He should have been more careful, should have focused.

“Gramps?” he said softly. It was too late to cover up, or to hide. All that was left was to ride this moment to the end.

His grandfather closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Bart flashed into his clothes.

“Ready to go?” Bart asked, once Barry had composed himself.

His voice was too high, and his grin was too wide, but he hopped his grandfather would drop it anyway.

Gramps smiled thinly, in a forced way, but he gestured to leave, and so they did.

  
  


Later that day, Bart went to the Watchtower to train with the team, only to find Barry occupying the training room. Instead of running on the track or the super treadmill like he normally would, he was pummeling a punching bag at super speed. By the wreckage behind him, it was clear that he had already gone through several.

“He’s been at it for almost thirty minutes now.” Superboy said. “I tried to talk to him about it, but he was  _ not _ in the mood for that. Any idea what set him off?”

“Nope!” He said, as he turned on his heels and left.

  
  


Barry was  _ not _ a violent man. He just wasn’t. He didn’t put holes in walls or punch things for fun. But when he saw that the kid,  _ his _ kid, was completely covered in scars-

He wanted, no,  _ needed _ to hit something.

There was one on his arm, just under his shoulder that he had somehow never noticed. He had been in forensics long enough to know that it was from a dog bite. A  _ big _ dog.

There were claw marks on his chest, over his heart.

A burn scar, puckered and pink on his side, just below his rib cage.

On his other side, there was another scar, large and pink. He couldn’t tell what had caused it, but he knew it must have been painful.

There were others, some long and thin, some thick and fat. Some were barely noticeable to the untrained eye.

There were worse ones, ones that made him want to  _ vomit _ . They were long and thick, cutting across his back, cutting across his  _ spine. _ Some curled up over his shoulders, while others dipped below the small of his back. They crisscrossed into some sort of sick tapestry.

They stripped him of his powers, they  _ whipped  _ him.

Bart was already small and thin for his age. He must have been tiny when he was younger. He tried not to imagine a smaller Bart, chained and collared and flinching with each blow. He tried not to imagine the amount of pain he must have been in, or the amount of blood coming from his tiny body.

Barry wanted to hit someone. No, he wanted to  _ kill  _ someone.

“Gramps?”

Bart’s soft voice snapped him out of his trance, and he met his eyes. He looked scared and tense.

_ Because of him, and his reaction. _ He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, focusing on relaxing his body language. Bart needed him to be a parent, not some ogling onlooker.

No wonder Bart had wanted a more modest swimsuit.

“Ready to go?” Bart asked when he had calmed himself.

He was doing that thing he did sometimes. When he really,  _ really _ didn’t want to talk about something, he would refuse to acknowledge it at all.

Barry let him, and they both left in an awkward silence.

He dropped Bart off at the Garricks, and went for a run. After lapping the city for the fifth time, he still needed to hit something. Badly.

He ended up in the training room at the Watchtower, beating up several punching bags. Several people stopped to stare, but no one bothered him, and no one got close. He couldn’t blame them. No one had ever seen him this angry before. He’d never  _ been  _ this angry before. Someone hurt his kid and there was nothing to fight, no one to beat up, and nothing he could do. What’s done is done, and he had no control over what had happened to Bart before, no matter how much he wished he had.

He noticed Bruce staring close by after his sixth bag fell to the floor. He watched, but didn’t stop as he grabbed a seventh. After the seventh bag was destroyed, he calmly approached him. Barry sighed and let him.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Cream and 37 sugars.”

“I know how you like it,” he answered, turning towards the kitchen.

Barry followed wordlessly.

“What about Bart set you off?” Bruce asked once they both had a mug of coffee in their hands.

“Wha- How did you know this was about Bart?”

“He showed up for team training, but left almost as soon as he saw you in the gym.”

“What?!” He groaned and held his face in his hands. He hadn’t meant to throw a tantrum in front of Bart, especially not after staring at him for who knows how long earlier in the day.

“I’m gonna have to make this up to him somehow,” Barry said. “The only problem is, I don’t know how.”

Bruce, being very helpful, responded by sipping his coffee.

“I could use some advice here, Bats.”

“You could start with an apology,” he stated simply.

“Gee, thanks.”

“You asked for my advice. Not to mention, you never answered my question.”

Barry sighed. “Remember when I told you about the swimming thing?”

Bruce simply nodded.

“The actual  _ swimming _ part went surprisingly well, but…”

Barry just sighed. Should he even be saying this? Bart clearly valued his privacy, and he’d already messed that up enough today.

“He has… scars,” he admitted simply.

“How bad?”

“Bad.”

Bruce just nodded.

“I just… the kid is still so  _ young, _ and he’s already been hurt so much… I guess I let my anger get the best of me.”

“Do you know why I took in Dick, all those years ago?”

“You were there when his family died, right?”

He nodded. “I took him in because no child deserves to go through that alone. I couldn’t change what had already happened, but I could guide him through it. I could give him a good life, and better coping mechanisms than I had when my parents died. You may not be able to change what Bart has gone through, but you can be there for the rest of it. He needs you.”

“I know, thanks Bats.”

Bruce stood up. “The training room is still a mess,” he said, walking out of the room.

Barry sighed, but continued sipping his coffee. He would clean it up after he had had a moment to himself.

One moment turned into thirty, and Barry couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander back to Bart. Now that he wasn’t in a blind rage. more puzzle pieces fit into place.

Bart wasn’t fond of dogs. He tried (poorly) to hide it, but it was obvious. Whenever they saw dogs on their runs, Barry stopped to pet them and make conversation, while Bart kept his distance. He would laugh it off and give some lame excuse, and Barry would laugh with him and tease him about it good-naturedly. He felt bad for laughing now. If Bart had been attacked by one when he was younger, it made sense that he would be weary of them now.

Barry had also noticed, some time ago, that Bart tensed up whenever he gave him a ‘good job’ pat on the back. He had since switched to gentle shoulder touches and smiles of praise to convey a job well done instead. Now he knew why Bart had hated them so much.

He was interrupted mid contemplation by the whooshing of a speedster approaching. Suddenly, Bart was there, in full Kid Flash garb.

He paled when he saw Barry. “I, uh, maybe I should…” and he turned on his heels to run away.

“Wait!” Barry pleaded. He needed to talk with Bart, to take the chance to make this right and apologize.

Bart stopped and turned to face him, but there was fear in his eyes. It pained him that it was there because of Barry.

Barry stood and put his hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t we take a walk?”

“A walk?” Bart asked with his eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” Barry said. “It’s like a run but slower.”

Bart rolled his eyes. “I know what a walk is Gramps.”

“Good! Cause I know the perfect place,” he said, leading Bart by the shoulder.

“I have a mission in like an hour,” Bart said, weakly trying to protest.

“I’ll have you back by then,” Barry promised.

They walked in an awkward silence towards the Grotto. When they got there, Bart plopped down by the edge and dangled his legs over the side. Barry joined him, and watched as the starlight reflected off of his eyes.

There was silence for a beat, and then another. Bart picked at and fiddled with the grass underneath them, and his eyes flicked from Barry’s face to the starlit sky before them.

“I’m sorry, Bart.” Barry breaking the silence. “I threw a tantrum when I shouldn’t have. I just got so upset about how you must have felt in the past, that I completely ignored your feelings in the present.”

His shoulders slumped and his hands froze and clasped in his lap.

“It’s okay,” Bart said softly. “I know it’s not a pretty sight. I try to cover it up most of the time, but I guess I just got distracted.”

Barry closed his eyes and breathed. His scars  _ weren’t _ a pretty sight, but that wasn’t important. What was important was that Bart understood that this was  _ Barry's  _ fault, and that he shouldn't have to worry about how Barry or anyone in the family would react to his scars.

“No Bart, you were being  _ yourself. _ You were telling me a story about your life. I was startled and handled it poorly. This was my fault, not yours.”

Bart said nothing, but stared at his wrist, as if there was something there that Barry couldn't see.

“Look," he said softly. "I understand if it's because you value your privacy, I respect that, but please, don’t think you need to cover up for my benefit, okay?"

Bart nodded.

"I should eat something before the mission," he said after a few minutes.

Barry nodded and stood up, offering Bart a hand. He took it, and pulled Barry into a hug.

"Stay safe on your mission, okay?"

"Will do Gramps," he said with a soft smile.

"See you at dinner?" Barry asked once they had separated.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Bart said, waving goodbye.

After Bart left, Barry got up, stretched, and headed for the training area, where he still had a mess to clean up.

A week later found them in the pool again. This time, Bart flashed into his normal clothes from the beginning, and smiled at Barry when they were ready to go.

“Home?” Barry asked, putting his hand on Bart's shoulder.

“Home.” Bart said with a grin.

Bart’s scars still tugged on the back of his mind. He was certain that they always would, to some extent. The monsters who had created them were gone, and they would not be coming back. Bart was safe, and Barry promised himself that he would keep him that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually love how this chapter turned out. Up next, Injury Pt 2!


End file.
